


Night Flight

by spangelbanger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 22:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10886259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spangelbanger/pseuds/spangelbanger
Summary: Case fic that's been floating around on my computer since February of 2014. Sam and Dean hunt a mara. (Not Amara. a mara. It's actually a monster.)Not sure when it's exactly suppose to be set but it's defintely early on. There's not a single mention of an angel in this fic.





	Night Flight

Dean was sleeping off a rough night in a back water town he couldn't remember the name of when Sam burst through the motel room door. A shaft of blinding August sunlight landed in a strip across Dean's face and he flinched. Waking up quickly and painfully.

“Mornin',” Sam said too cheerfully, even through his hung over haze Dean could tell that he might not have been planning on the exact position of the sun when he opened the door but he was definitely pleased with the results.

Dean groaned and rolled over, putting his back to his brother and the offending light. “I couldn't tell.” he muttered barely loud enough for Sam to hear. He was in a mood, his voice dripped with every ounce of sarcasm and annoyance he could inflict on it, but Sam seemed oblivious.

“I found a case,” he said dropping a half unfolded newspaper onto the bed next to him. Dean barely had his feet on the floor and was still rubbing groggily at his eyes when he reached for the paper.

“Great,” he said, feeling like Sam was at least half to blame for his hangover and it really wasn't fair that he wasn't sharing in Dean's misery. He looked over the paper and read the headline.

Insomnia; a growing concern for local residents. He looked up skeptical, “last time I checked a few people not being able to check wasn't our kind of gig.” he knew that it probably wasn't the first story, but if he was going to be thrown into a job before he even had a cup of coffee in him he was damn well going to drag his heels first.

“Other side,” Sam said, then dropped a bag on the bed next to him, “I got you breakfast and,” he held out a white bottle with a label half scratched off, “thought you might need this.”

Sam tossed him the bottle underhanded and Dean caught it just before it could hit him in the face. He dry swallowed a couple of the asprin before opening the bag, he looked up with a smile, most of his former annoyance forgotten, or at least forgiven, “Bacon Cheeseburgers?”

“It's not even eight yet,” Sam said, like the time mattered, “that's disgusting.”

“Yeah, but you know me so well,” Dean tore into the food like it was a life saver, even though he had a hard time convincing his stomach that he really did want to eat, “you know me so well,” he said as the flood of flavor helped wake him up.

“Right,” Sam said, rolling his eyes like he thought Dean was stupid but it didn't erase the smile on his face.

“It's never too early for cheeseburgers,” Dean argued, but he didn't look up to see if Sam was agreeing with him or not, too busy skimming the article that Sam had circled. It was quick and to the point, there were three people dead, all from apparently suffocating in their sleep, no signs of a forced entry, but the police weren't ruling out foul play, “so, what are you thinking?” He asked between bites.

“Could be nothing, could be something,” Sam shrugged, “at the very least it's something to kill some time.”

“All right,” Dean agreed hesitantly, like he was actually considering it, even though they both knew the second Sam handed him the paper they'd be going, “we'll check it out.”

Sam rolled his eyes at him again, “Got anything else?” He asked knowing from the way that Sam was holding back there was at least one more thing he knew that he was saving for last.

“No,” Sam said, dean didn't normally misread his brother, but it had been known to happen. Dean let it go, let the thick smoked flavor of bacon and beef for a little bit make him forget all of his problems. He closed his eyes and let the soft sounds of pleasure float unchecked from his mouth. If nothing else, it was one hell of a burger.

 

The town they pulled into was bigger than some they'd been forced to stay in, smaller than others, a little under three-thousand people according to the population sign. The first two people on their list were Morgan and Olivia. Morgan was a bank manager, Olivia owned a print shop. The kind of places that made copies for ten cents a page, printed wedding invitations, and would let you use their fax machine. So far the only connection that they had to go on was both Morgan and Olivia seemed to be upper management of their businesses.

“I'll take the widow, you take the paper stuff,” Dean said before the car had fully rolled to a stop outside their motel room.

“Dude, you don't even know what she look like,” Sam said rolling his eyes.

“True, but stationary creeps me out,” Dean grinned, the obvious lie between them, but Sam let it go. It didn't matter who did which interview as long as it got done. And if Dean's charm could get them more information, Sam was willing to let him work.

The store Olivia ran was within walking distance of the motel, but Dean dropped him off outside it. The closed sign hung in the window and he pointed at it, “little late in the day to be closed isn't it?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “I'll meet you back at the room.”

“Don't wait up,” Dean said smirking like he planned on actually spending the night with a woman he'd never even seen.

Sam was cautious when he approached the building, but didn't really expect anything out of the ordinary there. Still he pressed his face against the glass an cupped his hand to block out the glare of sunlight on the tinted glass. There was definite movement inside. He watched as a woman in a too loose sweater walked toward the door then stepped out of the way giving her room to open it. “I'm sorry we're closed,” she said, her eyes roaming up him, taking in the suit with a pinched look.

“I'm here about Olivia Carter's Death,” he said quickly, “I just wanted to ask her employees a few questions then I'll get out of your hair,” he held up the badge and she didn't seem interested in examining it any closer. “Alright,” she said, stepping out of the way, for him to walk past her, and locking the door behind him. He tried not to let the sound of the lock clicking make him uncomfortable, it was a little disconcerting regardless. “Sorry about the Chaos,” She said, gesturing around at a number of employees in matching uniforms sorting through boxes, “it's not really something you expect to happen.”

“What are you working on?” he asked, needing to sate his own curiosity more than he thought it would help them figure out what happened to the woman who had been the store manager.

“Inventory,” she explained, “we're making triple sure that everything is in order before the lawyers get their grubby hands on the business, until the estate is dealt with we really won't know what's going to happen to the business.”

“Why's that?” he asked soft encouragement in his voice.

It wasn't hard to see the moment she took the bait, her eyes drifted down, “Olivia was the sole owner, it was her company, this place was practically her whole life, we don't know who is going to take over now that she's gone, or even if we're going to be able to keep the store open.” If she had more to say, it was lost when she had to stifle a yawn.

“I'm sorry, I just haven't slept well since it happened.” She said, then smiled apologetically.

Sam's eyes skimmed the room briefly taking in how tired and tense the entire staff seemed. “Looks like that could case some sleepless nights.” None of them were quiet as harried looking as the woman who'd opened the door for him.

“It's not every day you find out your boss suffocated in her pillow, I mean that kind of thing isn't suppose to actually happen.” She closed her eyes, and looked like she was regaining some composure, “since you're here though, I'm guessing it probably doesn't actually happen.”

“Oh it does, but it's not the only suffocation recently, we're just checking out every possibility.” He smiled patiently, like this was all just a formality, “I know you're busy, and I'll try to make it quick, I just have a few questions for your employees, do you have somewhere I could talk to them privately?”

“Yeah, the office,” she guided him past the counter to a small hallway, the bathrooms were labeled on one side on the other was a single door with a glass window, she pushed it upon. The chaos from the store had either spilled over into this one to, or they hadn't made it here in their organization project. Papers and document boxes were scattered on every surface. A few books were stacked haphazardly onto the bookshelf in the corner. The manager noticed his attention to the mess and said, “I'm sorry, it's not normally like this, Olivia was better about keeping things organized she'd just been going through a rough patch, trouble sleeping stuff like that, so she let it get a little piled up in here.”

“It's fine.” Sam assured her, “I've worked with worse. Just send back whoever you feel could tell me the most.” Sam smiled at her, and she ran a nervous hand through her hair. She seemed to notice the tangles for the first time. She smoothed a hand over her hair and smiled, “I'll have someone right with you.”

While he waited Sam skimmed briefly over the papers scattered on the desk. When the door opened again a girl walked in without bothering to knock, the thing that stood out the fastest was that her hair was a bright bubble gum pink “You wanted to see me?” She asked sliding into the chair in front of the desk. He could see tell she was chewing gum the same color as her hair, and her fingers moved nervously against her leg, but she made a good show of putting on a brace face, she didn't cross her legs, but Sam could see the tremble in her leg where it was trying to bounce.

He introduced himself again, “I just wanted to ask some quick questions about your boss.”

“Sure, let it rip,” she said.

He started her off slow, easy questions to get her warmed up, how long she'd been with the company, if she liked her job, little stuff to test the water.

He saved the hard questions until the leg stopped trembling and she was leaning forward in her chair while she talked.

He smiled, “just a couple more questions, Did Olivia have any enemies that you know of? Anyone that might want to hurt her?”

“Just Lynn.” She said, “she worked here but she got in a wreck about six months ago. Olivia had to replace her. Lynn was pissed about it.”

“How pissed?” He asked knowing he'd found the lead he was looking for.

“Threatened her,” She said then grinned and popped a large bubble in her gum.

“What did she say?” He asked leaning forward inviting her to confide her secret.

“Oh you know, something about medical leave and lawyers, the normal stuff.” She said, he wondered if ti was because it was true, or because she was protecting her former coworker.

“So she just threatened legal action, not to actually hut her.”

“Well not exactly.” She looked down a look like a chastised child on her face and he found himself wondering how old this kid really was. “but it's not hard to imagine that if her lawyer told her she didn't have a case she might change her mind.” The hope that he'd had faded out a little. It was something to look into, but it most likely wasn't more than just what it sounded like. Still a pissed off former employee was a better place to start than what he'd had before.

“What was Lynn's last name?” He asked her.

“Johanson.” She said, “but Lynn's just a nickname her name is actually Mailynn.”

He pulled out one of the cards with the current alias on it, and handed it to her. “If you think of anything else, you can give me a call.”

She reached across the desk and grabbed one of the business cards and a pen and wrote down a number on it, “if you want to know anything else, I get off at 7. if I don't call you, you can always call em.”

He slipped the number in his pocket feeling uncomfortable even taking it, but it might come in useful if he did need to ask her anything else.

 

Dean knocked on the door of a brick house surrounded by identical brick houses. He was pretty sure that he had the right house number. He glanced around taking in the yard and the area around it. The lawn was a little over grown especially when compared to the lawns on either side, and there was a few branches scattered across the walkway leading up to the front door. It had the windswept look of the aftermath of a storm. The door opened and the woman who answered it might have been pretty if she hadn't looked like she hadn't slept in a week. He held up the badge, and gave a name that it took a lot of practice to spit out without grinning he said holding up the badge, “I just have a few questions.”

She looked back behind her, “You need to go play outside for a little while.”

Dean stepped back to make room for a kid who was sixteen or seventeen to push past him and out the door. He was definitely too old to be told to play outside, but Dean didn't pay him too much attention.

“Come on in.” the widow said to Dean opening the door up wider. The house was dark and there were some brittle looking flowers in vases on the coffee table. “You can sit down wherever there's room, there's more flowers here than at the funeral home.”

“I just have a couple questions,” he said, taking her offer and sitting down on the edge of the couch, she took the chair next to him.

“Did you notice anything unusual in the weeks leading up to your husbands' death?”

“Just the nightmares.” she said, “but really, I think they were just signs of a guilty conscious.”

“How long before the accident did the nightmares start?” He asked.

She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, “couple weeks maybe, I'm not sure I wasn't really paying attention.”

“Did he talk to a doctor about the nightmares?” Dean asked already knowing the answer.

She rolled her eyes like he was stupid for asking, “It was nightmares. The only way you could force him to go to a doctor would be if the thought he was dying, even then he'd complain about it the entire time.”

“Where were you when he passed?” Dean asked, “if he was in bed, where were you?”

“I was in the guest room,” she said, “with his restless sleeping it was easier for me to just sleep in the other room.” There was sincerity in what she said, but it still didn't seem like the entire truth.

“Was there anyone that would want to hurt your husband?” he asked

She didn't answer, for a long time, then pulled a cellphone out from between the cushions, “why don't you start with the woman that keeps texting him.”

He took the phone, and put it in his pocket, “I'll get this back to you.” She nodded, “I'm sorry, I'm done, I can't deal with this anymore.” She stood up, “please just go.”

He took the hint and stood up offering her his card, “if you think of anything else.”

she took it and nodded, but didn't say anything.

Walking outside he noticed the garage door had been opened. He looked it over, and his mouth watered at the sight of an old Camero half swallowed in the shadows, it was a dark blue, just a few shades shy of black.

Dean walked over, saw the kid sitting behind the wheel, “Nice car.” he said.

The kid climbed out of it and glared at him, “It was my dad's,' he looked toward the front door then back to Dean, “what were you here for?”

“To talk about your dad,” Dean answered honestly, “but now I want to talk about this car, she's gorgeous.”

“Yeah well, it was his dream car, but it's not like he got to enjoy it.”

“Why not,” Dean asked, “car like that, it's made to be driving.”

“After he totaled the Hyundai he decided he deserved something he wanted not something practical. He had it less than three months.”

“Not a lot of luck with car's?” Dean asked, almost feeling relief that the camero hadn't been the victim of a serial bad driver.

The kid shrugged and looked back at the car, “I guess it's mine now.” He looked up at Dean and for the first time Dean could see the pain that was hidden underneath the attitude, “I'd rather have my dad than his damn car.”

Dean didn't expect it to hit him as hard as it did, “I know what you mean,” he agreed, “But you can't beat a car like that.”

 

Sam followed the girl with bubblegum hair out of the office, “Did you get everything you need?” The assistant manager asked him coming up from a stack of boxes she was counting.

“Yeah, if you have a few minutes I have a couple more things to ask you.” He said, and turned back toward the office. He heard her whisper something to the person who was helping her that sounded like instructions, and then she followed him in.

He gave her a second to relax then asked, “a name came up, Mailyn Johanson, what can you tell me about her?”

She looked thoughtful for a minute, “hard worker, really sweet girl, kind of bubbly most of the time before the wreck at least.” She looked up at him surprised, “wait you don't think Lynn had anything to do with Olivia, because that's not possible.”

“Why not?” He asked, there was always someone who thought everyone that did something bad never had it in them. Sam knew better. He knew that everyone was capable of murder. Even sweet bubbly girls who worked really hard.

The manager smiled at him, “Olivia was her best friend, Lynn would die before she'd hurt her.”

“But she fired her.”

She shook her head a bemused smile on her lips, “i'm sorry I didn't realize she'd say something like that.” she looked pointedly toward the door, “Lynn was “fired” so she wouldn't have to quit. If she quit she wouldn't have been able to draw her unemployment. Olivia couldn't afford to give her paid leave or she would have done it. It was just temporary. As soon as she was able to come back, Olivia was going to hire her back.”

“Doesn't that count as fraud?” Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

“Maybe, I don't really know the legal stuff involved, but if you want to press charges you should probably remember Olivia is dead, it's all up in the air at this point anyways.”

He respected the attitude, though she would probably be stupid to talk to a real FBI that way. He smiled, at her, “you might have a point there, besides, that's not exactly my jurisdiction.”

“Lynn and Olivia were inseparable. It was just another way they looked out for each other.” She said, “They'd tell you they're more like sisters than friends. I'd really suggest you talk to Lynn about it rather than listen to a girl who is speculating and sharing gossip.” She stopped and took a breath, it disolved into another yawn.

“Sorry, I get bitchy when I'm tired.” She said like she just realized how her words sounded.

“It's fine.” Sam assured her, “I've been told the same thing.”

She didn't seem to believe him, he added, “do you know where I can find Lynn?”

“Yeah, it's in the personnel file. I can get it.” She pushed a button on the computer and the ancient sounding processor whirled to life, “It might take a few minutes this thing is so old we can't even hook it up to the network system.”

“I have time,” he said not bothering to check for sure.

 

Sam made it back to their room long before Dean did. When he finally walked in Sam didn't bother looking up from the computer, “Widow give up anything good.”

“Not really, she wasn't feeling very chatty. Considering she just found out her dead husband was cheating on her, she's holding up pretty well. I did get something though.”

“What?” Sam asked already thinking that an affair could be motive. Whether it was the wife or the girlfriend he wasn't sure, and it still didn't answer how the other vics played into it.

“The son just inherited a beautiful Camero. It was bought less than 3 months ago, after daddy totaled his Hyundai.”

“When was the wreck.” Sam asked, thinking that it probably wasn't a coincidence that Lynn had also been in a wreck, but instead of getting a new car out of the deal she got fired from her job.

Dean might as well have verified the hunch by saying, “Six months ago, apparently he spent some time soul searching on the perfect car before buying it. It was nice to.”

“So that's our connection.” Sam said softly, still it felt weird knowing the dead guy was screwing around on his wife even if it wasn't actually what had gotten him killed.

“Looks like.” Dean agreed then filled him in on both the conversations with the widow, and her son.

“So who do you want to check out first? Olivia's house or Lynn's?” Sam asked, I mean we still don't know what we're dealing with. If it's witchcraft there's probably a hex bag or something in Olivia's house.”

“Didn't get a chance to look for one in the banker's place.” Dean said with a mock sad look that betrayed real frustration, “unfortunately I didn't find out about the connection until the wife decided she was done talking.”

“So, Olivia's first to see if there's a hex bag or something, then we'll talk to Lynn. See if it's her, or see if we can figure out who the girlfriend was. There may be a connection to Olivia that doesn't involve Lynn at all.” It was unlikely but it had been known to happen.

 

The house was small, down a street that the neighbors were crowded together on either side, but where the neighborhood Morgan had lived in had seemed planned and organized this one was pure haphazard, like someone had intentionally squeezed as many small houses and run down trailers onto the strip as possible. Most of the yards were connected, separated by either small dividers, or fences built of sheet metal and chain link fencing, it was not at all what they expected to find from the owner of her own business. The front yard was a mess, a tree next to the house had more than a few broken branches, and looked like it was leaning toward the bedroom window.

The address checked out, so Sam picked the lock while Dean stood watch. Though given the run down state of the neighborhood it was probably not necessary. Sam doubted anyone would even say anything to them.

When the door opened Dean followed him inside and searched for a light switch. The light was yellow and weak, but it illuminated a mess that made the copy store look neat in comparison. There was days worth of dirty dishes stacked in the sink, a half eaten sandwich lying on a paper towel on a counter. Laundry was scattered down the hall leading into the room that Dean assumed would have been Olivia's bedroom.

“Definitely not a neat freak.” Dean said disgusted.

Sam followed the trail of dirty laundry down the hall and checked the rooms. Comparatively the bedroom was pretty well spotless. The bed was stripped down to the mattress probably for evidence, and the room still held the faint smell of blood. Curtains flowed into the room from a breeze through the half open window. A half empty pack of light blue pills was sticking out of a box on the bedside table.

“I guess she was having trouble sleeping,” he said. It would explain the room fi t he only time she cleaned it was when she couldn't sleep. But it was too big a stretch for him to be comfortable saying it out loud.

Dean asked, “Think it's possible she just took too many?”

“Not out of this box.” Sam answered. “Besides how many times has it ever been that simple.”

Dean pulled out the emf reader even though neither of them had even mentioned the possibility of a ghost. The meter was blissfully silent. “Probably not a ghost.” Dean said, “demon?”

Sam checked the area around the window seal. Despite it being open was it was clean and dry. Like who ever had stripped the sheets had been the one to open the window. It must have been after the storm that downed the branches outside. “If it is, there's not any of the usual signs, no sulfur either.”

He turned around to see Dean picking up a book off the floor that had a ribbon sticking half out of the top of it.

“Diaries are private Dean.”

“Journal's aren't.” he said turning it around. The words “Dream Journal” were written on it in a flowery script with bubbles drawn around it. It was very girlish for a grown woman to have. But it might have been the only style they had.

“Let me see.” Sam held out his hand for it.

“Get your own. “ Dean said, and started flipping through the pages. It didn't take long before he got bored with it and handed it over, “i though I had problems.”

Sam started skimming the book, Dean checked under the bed for hex bags. “Ew.” he muttered, “this is definitely top 3 of the most disgusting things i've ever seen.”

“That bad?” Sam asked without looking up from the book.

“Well it's not as bad as your face, but I'm pretty sure some of that mold is older than you are.”

“You said that Morgan was having night mares before he died?”

“Yeah.” Dean said still trying to pull things out from under the bed without actually touching any of it.

“So was Olivia. And they were both suffocated in their sleep.” Sam waited for Dean to pick up the trail of his thought, as usual dean delivered it pretty quickly, “you're thinking the connection might actually be through the dreams.”

“That's what I'm thinking. I think we're more likely to find an answer in here, than a hex bag.” He said holding up the dream journal.

“Good, bring the book, and let's the hell out of here, before we catch something.” Dean was already heading toward the door, he grabbed a shirt from the pile of clothes on top of the couch as he walked by and rubbed his hand over the material like he was trying to get something gross off it. The face he made, said better than words could that it didn't help. Sam followed him out the door, careful to avoid tripping over the maze of crap between the bedroom and the front door. As soon as they were out in the open air, Dean pointed at the broken down tree, “must have been one hell of a storm.” he added in the off handed way that he didn't seem to know could be offensive, “if I didn't know better I'd think ti got into that house.”

 

Back in their room, Sam spent the rest of the afternoon reading the note book. Dean occasionally interrupted him, but for the most part he was left alone to delve deeper than he wanted into the dreams of a dead woman. Each date was scrawled roughly in the corer of the entry. And in places the script was hard to read like it was written in a rush. But he was making his way through it pretty quickly even having to slow down to decipher passages that were almost illegible.

“Anything useful yet?” Dean asked sitting down on the edge of one of the beds and tearing open a bag of chips.

Sam glanced up long enough to see that Dean wasn't actually looking at him. Instead he was looking down into the bag like he was trying to decide where he wanted to start eating it.

“Mostly it just normal bad dream stuff.” He paused, “listen to this part though, 'I coudln't have been awake because someone was sittin on top of me. I could barely breath.' it goes on to say that whatever it was turned into a moth and flew out the window.”

“The window that was left open?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said, “probably.”

There were a few other entries that Sam pointed out to him.

The first one being dated August 1st at 7:36 am.

“ _Last night I had the worst dreams of my life. I swear I've never dreamed anything that horrifying before. It's like my subconscious took every single thing I've ever been afraid of and threw them all at me at once. God, I really think I could crawl back in bed and sleep until the next millennium. But I have to go to work. Sometimes I don't think the place could function without me. Especially now that Lynn had to quit on me._

 

_Right, so the dream....I don't even know where to start. It started normal. I was back at home, the house where I grew up. And my bedroom was full of snakes and spiders. Then I was drowning in the river. One time I saw it flood and I remember thinking that if I slipped off the bank they'd never find me again. I saw mom, she said that she had always expected more from me then to float away on the first tide that swept in. That was a strange thing for her to say, but I get what she meant. She expected more of me. She expected me to be like her. Sorry mom, I don't know how to do that._

 

_The dream changed and I was in the store and the IRS was there doing an audit. I was still soaking wet from the river and the copier caught on fire. I need to remember that thing was due to be serviced over a month ago. I hope it doesn't actually catch on fire before I have a chance to get it fixed._

_I dreamed I woke up after that. But I couldn't have been awake because someone was sitting on top of me. I could barely breath. For a second I thought it was a blond girl. But then she changed into a moth and flew out the window. I don't remember what happened next. Just that I must have tossed all night because I woke up this morning with knots in my hair so bad I'm considering getting it cut instead of trying to work them out._

_Well I have to get ready for work now. Got a long day ahead._

  * _Olivia”_




There was another one a few days later, on the fourth it was just three sentences, but Sam felt it hit him like something that he could have written. “ _Dreams are getting worse. I wake up more tired then when I went to bed. Something is wrong with me_.”

The one that really had his attention was written August 7th, at 1:28am, he read it out loud, “ _My doctor gave me a sleep aid. It isn't working. I dreamed I was drowning on dry land, everyone was watching and laughing_.”

“so?” Dean asked, “sounds like just another bad dream.”

“That was the last entry.” Sam said, “She died that night, less than an hour after that was written.”

Dean mulled over it, “how far from the first nightmare was that?”

“a week, almost exactly.” Sam said, and let him do the math himself.

“so the other victim, do we know how long he was having nightmares before-” he made a slicing motion across his own neck.

“you think there's a pattern.” Sam asked. Though he was starting to suspect there might be. And that they might not be dealing with something as straight forward as a witch or a curse. If either of those things could even be considered straight forward.

Sam didn't need to look up nightmares. He'd found a list of pretty much every supernatural cause of nightmares there was. Like everything he researched he kept a record of it. It wasn't long until he had it pulled back up. There was something there, nagging at the back of his mind that he knew what it was if he could just remember what it was.

Dean looked up, “hey what was the sleep meds she was taking?”

“I don't know why?”Sam asked, he could probably check, but it hadn't seemed relevant at the time.

“well the first dream, that sounds like that one commercial.” He stopped, “not the nightmare part, but the moth flying out the window. Luna something or other.” He said.

Sam already had the words entered into the search engine before Dean was finished saying them. The commercial was easy to find, it was the inspiration he needed to find what he was actually looking for.

“It's a mare, or an alp.” he said finally.

“What, how do you know that?” Dean asked.

“Because it fits.” Sam said, “it's a spirit, that steals people's souls or life force while they're sleeping. It's not at all at once thing. It causes nightmares by sitting on the chests of people that are sleeping, makes them tired, leaves broken branches wherever it's been, it's victims start off tired, and end up dead. Suffocated in their sleep.”

“So how do we figure out which one it is?” Dean asked.

“it's basically the same thing, it just depends on who summoned it how we have to deal with it.”

“so it is a summoned thing, someone is picking the victims.” Dean said.

“by everything I've read, yeah.”

“so we are dealing with a witch.” Dean said, “I knew it. Why is it always witches.”

“It's not always witches.” Sam said, “sometimes it's ghosts.”

“at least ghosts don't curse people they just stick with violent murder.” He said it like that was a good thing. He smiled, “well at least we know what it is, now we just have to figure out who's controlling it. Easy as pie. Right?”

“I'm sure it will be a piece of cake.” Sam said.

“that's not even close to the same thing.” dean muttered. “it's like you just refuse to understand there is a big difference between cake and pie.”

“Whatever you say,” Sam said going back to the research. “we're most likely looking for the spirit of a woman,” he said a little while later, breaking Dean's concentration on the tv.

“So how do we kill it?” Dean asked, “salt and burn?”

“I'm not sure that'll work.” Sam said, “they aren't dead. At least according to this, they're the spirits of women who are sleeping,they suck the life force from people and that's what causes the nightmares, but the women themselves may not even know what they're doing, if they are the victim of a curse rather than the caster of it...” he let it trail off,

“got it, someone's using the spirit of someone living to kill people. Wouldn't that be a bitch to find out, you're a ghost assassin part time.” He looked like he got over the thought pretty quick, “well now we just have to figure out who the victims all knew.”

 

It was pretty early when the phone rang. Sam caught himself before he could give the wrong name, but it was clear the girl on the other end wouldn't have even noticed. She was practically screaming into the phone and he held it away from his ear.

“Calm down,” he said gently, “I'm on my way.”

“Who's that,” Dean grumbled as he dragged himself out of bed.

“Girl from the copy store, apparently the manager that I talked to yesterday was just taken to the morgue same cause of death is what she is saying,”

“Give me five minutes.” Dean muttered stumbling half blind to the bathroom. He came out a little more clear eyed, but still looking exhausted, “so morgue then go see if Lynn is our witch?” He asked.

“I'm going to talk to the girl, see how she found out about the death so quickly, it's strange, then I'll meet you up there.”

Dean double checked which id he had on him, and then headed out the door. It was less than ten minutes before they met back up outside the funeral home that held the morgue. Dean took the lea and asked to talk to the mortician. It was an elderly man with a thin mustache, whose skin seemed to hang off his bones. He looked at least seventy, possibly older. But he smiled at them when they came in.

“I wondered when the suits would show up.” he said, “here about the suffocation?”

“Yeah, it's a little strange how many accidental deaths with the same cause have been happening lately.”

“You're telling me” the old guy said, “seen maybe two three of these types of deaths in the past 10 years, all of them older folks. They pass peacefully in their sleep, these last few though, they're too young, their lungs should have been stronger.” he said.

“any way that we can see the body?” Dean asked.

“Badges first.” he said, with a smile. “even if they're fake I still have to see them.”

“What makes you think they're fake.” Sam asked.

The man gave him a smile that was just too kind to be truly condescending. “a man my age, in a profession like this? I've seen a lot of Death, you could say we're practically old friends. It's not the first time that something has came through here, that didn't make sense. But where Death goes, hunter's follow.” He said and smiled again.

“you know a lot of hunters?” Dean asked.

“not if I can avoid it.” the man said, there was no venom in it.

Dean pulled out the badge and handed it over. “It's good,” he said, “i wouldn't be able to tell if it was real or not.” he smiled, “we have to treat our patients with the respect we'd give them when they were alive. Part of that is not allowing people to access the bodies without the families permission or proper paper work. There are of course exceptions, but they are rare.”

It sounded a lot like he was saying no, but when he pulled a cooler unit open it was clear he was actually telling them he considered them an exception. It didn't tell them anything really, except the girl who had looked tired before now looked stone cold dead. Which was not a good look on anybody.

“Sorry I can't tell you more until the autopsy is finished,” he said, “but I will give you call as soon as I'm done.”

“Thank you,” Dean said, and Sam echoed the sentiment, they walked out and made it as far as the brightly lit hall before Dean said, “that seem fast to you?”

“The girl?” He asked, but he'd already been thinking the same thing himself. “If Morgan was two weeks and Olivia was a week, this might have been 4 days maybe. Whoever's doing it is definitely picking up speed.”

 

Dean knocked on the door, nervous about what they'd find inside the house. If Lynn was the person responsible for the deaths she would be unpredictable. If she wasn't then they had no idea where to go from there. The door opened quickly. The woman standing there had blond hair half falling around her shoulders, wearing a black tank-top and a pair of matching sweats. “Can I help you?” She asked looking between them with confusion.

“We're looking for Mailyn Johanson,” Sam said the words laced with caution and but not nervousness.

“I'm Abigail.” she said, “Lynn's my sister, if you want to come in I'll get her.”

Getting her wasn't necessary since she was walking into the room the door opened into from the other side. The couch was surrounded by baskets of laundry. Lynn was as blond as her sister, but her hair was neater in soft waves that cascaded more than they fell. It was a big difference, and not at at all subtle. Despite looking almost identical Lynn was beautiful in a tired way, and Abigail looked just tired.

Abigail went back to take her spot and started folding the clothes.

Lynn winced a little stepping around the table and her next step was uneven, she held out her hand when she got close enough, “I'm Lynn. I heard you were looking for me.”

“Dean,” he gestured to Sam, “this is my brother, Sam.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said shaking their hands “so, brothers, how did you end up working together.”

“We pulled some strings.” Dean said smiling, noticing the way she shifted her weight off her bad leg,“are you okay?” he asked, momentarily concerned more with her almost falling then the possibility that she was killing people in her sleep.

“I'm fine, just the doctor told me that I should try to walk on it more.” She said, “it's actually a lot better than it was.”

“Was that from the car accident?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah, just have to keep working on it, she said with a pained smile, I'm sorry, what was it you were here for?”

“Actually we're investigating the death of your former boss Olivia, and we were told that you were close friends, would you mind answering a few questions for us?” Sam said, it was too close to the truth that they were done investigating and they were now down to the hunting part, but she didn't need to know they were hunting her.

“What do you need to know?” She asked, “I thought she had some kind of accident, and we haven't really been spending much time together since my wreck, but if there's anything that I can do to help, I'd be happy to do it.”

“We're just doing some routine questions, talking to the people close to her, making sure that we check all the possibilities.”

“I thought it was a little weird, she was too young to just go like that.” She said thoughtfully, “you think it wasn't an accident.”

“We don't know.” Dean said.

“When was the last time that you talked to Olivia?” Sam asked, carefully.

““I guess it would have been at the barbecue weekend before last. She only stopped by for a few minutes though.” Lynn said without much thought.

“Did she seem distressed or upset?” Sam asked, “did she mention any fights with anyone.”

“A little tired maybe, but nothing too serious.” She looked up from folding the clothes, “we talked about the possibility of me getting a doctor release to go back to work, for just a few hours at a time so I could help her out. But she said that she wouldn't want to risk re-injuring my leg. Still I would have risked it for her if she let me. She looked completely wiped. like she'd just rolled out of bed. I don't think she even combed her hair.”

Abigail looked up from where she was sitting on the floor folding clothes, “She said she had nightmares all night the night before.” it was the first time that she had added anything to the conversation.

“So you talked to her.” Dean asked, surprised but then he really shouldn't have been. If sam had any friends he was sure that he would have at least talk to them.

“Yeah, a little, I mean we weren't close like Lynn and Olivia but we knew each other.” Abigail said.

“Anything else you could tell us? Did she seem depressed, or like she wasn't acting like herself?” Sam asked, trying to direct the conversation back to maybe find out if there had been a fight between them, but it didn't make sense.

“A little disoriented maybe but that was it.”

“Disoriented how?”

“Confused, kept thinking she had to work the next day but it was Saturday. Normal stress stuff.” She shrugged, “told her to get some rest, but she never listened to anyone.”

“You two didn't argue or fight or anything?” Dean asked.

“Not that I know of. If she was mad at me or anything she never said anything.” She looked like she was concerned for the first time, “wait did someone tell you we were fighting? Because we weren't. I felt bad about having to quit, but it wasn't like I choose to do it. And it might have made her job a little harder, but if I could have come up there and helped her out anyways I would have done it.”

“As far as we've heard, the two of you were really close, we were hoping that if something was going on she might have confided in you,” Sam offered, it visibly calmed her down and she relaxed against the chair.

“I wish she had.” She said, “I would have tried to help her. If I had known she needed it.”

Before Sam could say anything else, Dean interrupted him, “I'm sorry, I need to borrow your bathroom.”

Abigail pointed down the hall, “third door.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, and slipped down the hall careful to listen for some sign that Sam was failing to distract them. So far that hadn't happened yet. He didn't see anything that looked out of place. He only had a couple minutes, and then he heard Sam give their signal. Someone was coming toward the bathroom. He stepped out in the hall way just as Abigail came down the hall carrying the laundry basket on one hip. He stepped back into the bathroom out of the way and she smiled at him, politely before taking the folded clothes into the room he'd just been searching. The door closed behind her, he let out a breath of relief and went back to the living room.

Sam glanced at him as he came back into the room, “I think we have everything we need,” Sam said then smiled, the look was just enough to put Dean on alert, something had been said while he was out of the room. They went through the gestures of leaving.

“What'd you get?” Dean asked as soon as the car doors closed.

“The next victim.” Sam said.

“Well that's a good place to start.” Dean said as he threw the car into gear, “how long do you think we have?”

“Not long.” Sam said, “She's taking them quicker, like she needs more to keep her going.”

 

“I know.” a dark haired man quietly whispered into his cellphone, “Look I love you, I can't just leave though.” He looked at the picture on his desk as if it were part of the conversation. “No, honey, don't be like that, trust me, it's just a matter of time. Just a little longer and we can be together.” He sat on the edge of the bed kicking his shoe off with his toe. “I promise, no more secrets.” He smiled at something the person on the other end of the line said “I love you to. I'm heading to bed now. I'll call you in the morning and let you know when we should meet,” there was another brief pause and he said “I love you to, sweet dreams.” With a sigh he turned off the phone then went through the recent calls and deleted the number from the history before dropping the phone on the desk. He straightened the picture turning it slightly away from him then went to crack the window. While he looked out over the silent yard a straw colored moth slipped in through the crack. “Damn bugs,” he complained to the night in general choosing to ignore it as it danced around the lamp. It landed on the edge of the picture frame and he shooed it away with his hand then reached for the light switch.

He settled under the covers and barely twitched when the moth circled around him before settling on his cheek. It crawled slowly down his face stopping on his lips. It's wings softly lifting under the pressure of his breath. A low snore slipped out through his parted lips.

The next instant he found himself in the middle of his living room searching for his car keys. A brief moment of panic flickered before he found them laying in the middle of a podium. He stepped though the fog surrounding it sluggishly to find himself standing in the middle of a stage, music swelling behind him and the podium shifted. A mic stand took it's place and he found the keys transformed into a wireless mic. Apparently the one that belonged in that stand. A crowd of faces hidden in an oppressive shadow started chanting. At first it was nonsense then the word “sing” rose up out of the crowd. His heart raced picking up speed in an instant. He felt the chills run up his spine and sticky sweat breaking out on his skin. His chest hurt with the speed of his heart, he couldn't breath. He took a breath to try and force some chorus of some half remembered song from his lungs. The air wouldn't come. He gasped for the air that was pulled from his lungs if he could just think he could remember how to get it. He twisted trying to shake whatever was on him, pressing him down into a box. Blackness engulfed him. He tried to through off the thing holding him, it's hands wrapped around his throat. Hot breath fluttering against his lips. He could feel it there the soft touch and how could something holding him that firmly breath that softly. He struggled without waking fighting against the dream as it pulled him hard against the bed. Sweat slick hands gripped the sheet trying to find purchase to throw off whatever was on him. But he couldn't get enough of a grip, blackness was dragging him down. He felt the slow cascade of dirt filling in the hole he'd landed in. The sound of his own desperate gasps for air filled his lungs. He clawed up at the falling dirt and knew that when the darkness of the hole was completely filled he wouldn't be able to breath. He could still see the sky above him and it was already hard to breath. The false sun glinted off golden hair. It shifted into a moth swooping down close enough that he could see it had eyes, human eyes, blue as the sky that was filling above him. They were dead predatory eyes. “I know you.” He tried to whisper it but there was no air left. Nothing left to make the sound. He could feel it holding him down, weighed down with the life it was pulling from him. His eyes didn't open as the creature leaned over his chest, it's breath mingling with his own. His eyes fluttered briefly just before the last of the breath was forced out of his lungs by the weight holding him down.

\---

The door burst inward, Dean went through it first, shot gun in hand. He took a lunging half step to regain his balance. The man on the bed was gasping for breath, bucking against the weight of something neither of them could see.

“Shit,” Dean yelled, “is it invisible or psychic?”

“I don't know” Sam said, aiming a cursory swing of the crow bar through where the torso would be if the mara were corporal. The man was still gasping and fighting against the weight. A second swing followed the first, just for good measure then the crowbar hit the floor next to the bed. “You're going to have to wake him up.”

There was a flower vase with wilting roses on the dresser, Dean pull the flowers out and threw them on the floor, then upended the contents of the vase.

Water splashed across the guys face, soaked into the cotton sheets darkening them. He opened his eyes coughing and sputtering. His face was as red as if he'd been running a marathon, but as he sucked in desperate lungfuls of air, his eyes narrowed, no longer wide and panicked he started to realize that he wasn't alone. “What the hell?” The guy said, between labored breaths.

“You're welcome.” Dean said smugly. He looked up at Sam, and saw the glare he was being given. “What it worked.” He said, then turned back to the guy. “Where's the salt?”Dean asked “Sam will explain everything while I go get it.”

His head tilted in confusion, “kitchen, shelf above the stove. What does that have to do with –”

“We'll explain, but we need to make sure it can't get back in here.” Sam said.

“It?” There wasn't as much skepticism in it, he sounded scared. The man was at least smart enough to not ask too many questions while they secured the room.

 

They made it back to the motel and Sam fell exhausted onto the bed, it was lucky they had gotten there when they did. Dean didn't take it for a win though, he was already pacing around the room looking like he was ready to kill someone, “We have to find a way to stop her before she gets someone else killed.”

“Dean it's a curse, she doesn't have a choice.” Sam said, “everything I find says it's a curse, she might not even know that she's doing it.”

“It doesn't matter.” Dean argued, “her fault or not she's a monster. We need to either stop her or put her down.”

Sam closed his eyes and tried to not throttle his brother. Even Dean could see he was considering it as a viable option, it was about an hour and a half until sunrise, “if it's a curse, we'll find a way to break it before tonight. No one else has to die.”

“So, what we just forget about the fact the bitch almost killed another person with us literally in the room with him?” Dean asked.

“No I'm saying we get a couple hours sleep and hit this again in the morning,” Sam suggested, “come on man, I know I'm wiped, and you look dead on your feet.”

Dean stopped arguing, took off his shoes, then sank down onto his own bed, “okay, four hours, then we finish the job and get the hell out of here.”

Sam hadn't managed to fall asleep before he knew something was wrong. Dean was breathing in short hard gasps. The sound of his hard inhales had his brother reaching for the light, yelling Dean's name to wake him up.

He caught the glimpse of golden hair just before the creature turned to face him. It's eyes were hallow and sunken, it's skin looked almost translucently pale, it it's lips were stretched taunt, black around yellowing teeth. It looked dead. He wondered how was the corpse looking creature the spirit of a someone still living? She leaned over once again sealing her lips over Dean's he arched up off the bed and she rocked with him. Sam was off his bed in an instant pulling the iron bar off the floor beside the bed and aiming it at her head, careful not to hit Dean. The spirit vanished and in an instant it was back standing next to him. Her eyes no longer hollow. She smiled, and her lips were soft and pink bruised from the force of her kiss. He recognized her immediately “Lynn, you have to stop this.”

“Can't.” She might have whispered then more soundless words came from her, Sam was pretty sure she said, “he's marked,” but there was no sound just the movement of her lips before she faded away. Through the thin curtain Sam could see the pale orange light of dawn breaking the horizon. Just as Dean inhaled sharply and coughed. His hand coming up to his throat.

“It's okay,” Sam said, sinking down onto the bed next to his brother, the iron bar still dangling half forgotten from his fingertips.

Dean started to say something, then swallowed the words rubbing at his chest and neck like he felt some remnant of her weight there.

He was already thinking past Dean trying to catch his breath and to the last thing that Lynn had said before the sun rising sent her back to her own body.

“What if it's not a choice?” Sam asked, thinking out loud.

“Excuse me?” Dean said, his voice raspy, but sounding better, “I'm pretty sure that since you caught the girl literally sucking the life out of me, and not in the fun way, she is definitely our Mara.”

“I talked to her,” he said, “just before she disappeared, and she was herself, but she said she can't stop. Not that she doesn't want to.” he was thinking, “if this is a curse then she's just as much a victim of it as anyone else. She needs our help dean, not for us to kill her.”

“Okay, so,” he said, “if she's a mara, then how did she even become one, I mean I've never even heard of one, and these deaths are recent. Lynn's been living in this town her whole life.”

Sam was already moving toward the web pages he had bookmarked, talking as much to get the information straight in his head as he was to share it with Dean. “There are two different theories, one is that it's a choice, to cause mischief, the other is that it's a curse.”

“Someone cursed her with this? Why? As far as curses go it's pretty obscure.”

Sam shrugged, “why does anyone curse someone else?”

“So we're looking for someone with beef against our mara with a little knowledge of obscure curses? how many of those do you think are around here?”

“We'll figure it out,” sam argued, then laid back down, “we should be safe now, I don't think the mara can attack people during the day.”

“You know, a lot of the damn rules around spirits don't make any damn sense.” Dean said, “have you noticed that? Like spirits from Sweden have different rules than spirits from Japan or here, it's really confusing, I mean shouldn't any spirit that started human have to follow the same set of rules?”

Sam didn't have an answer, “metaphysical stuff has it's own rules.” He said finally the adrenaline drop had him edging toward sleep and he didn't fight it.

 

Sam was already up when Dean finally crawled out of bed, he felt better, but still exhausted. “so I found a way to break the curse.” He said, “if it works, it's really simple. Like stupidly easy to break.”

“How?” Dean asked rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“You literally just say, 'you are a mara' to her three times, it's suppose to break the spell.” Sam said.

“Great, well we have literally all day to find her, and I'm starving, breakfast first?”

Sam agreed easily, and started closing down the laptop. Dean was already counting down the hours until they could leave the town in the rear view and get somewhere with a little more interesting night life.

The diner they choose to get breakfast in promised an unbeatable pancake special. The chalk board on the counter had a doodle of a pancake with a butter square for a nose, whip cream and strawberries made it's eyes, and a strip of bacon curved into a smiling mouth. It also had on a pair of boxing gloves. “Cute” Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes at him and found them a booth in a corner away from the door.

They were still waiting on their order when someone walking in the door caught Dean's attention, “well, this should be over quick,” he muttered. Lynn scanned the room, meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second before turning away, he was almost positive that she'd seen him, but he didn't know if she remembered their midnight rendezvous or not. He waited until she sat down to get out of the booth.

“Well, I'll be damned.” Dean slid into the booth across from the blond. “It's nice to see you again Lynn.” He said leaning over the table, “so I had a few more questions for you.”

“Okay,” She said, and sounded more tired than he felt.

“How badly does someone have to piss you off before they find themselves having nightmares?”

She looked at him like he'd lost his mind, “I'm not doing this.”

“You are a mara, You are a mara, You are a mara.” he whispered low enough she was the only one that could hear him. He should have expected it when her hand met his cheek in a resounding clap of skin on skin.

“What the hell?” He asked.

“That's not funny,” she said softly, her voice sounding broken and tired, “you don't think we already tried that?”

It took a few minutes when he was certain she was going to walk out and leave them there the case wasn't as easily ended as he hoped, and he still had a sick twist in his gut that told him the only way to end it would be to kill the girl.

“look, after my accident, I almost died, and when I woke up I was like this. I don't have any control over it, and I can't stop it.” she leaned forward her breath coming in a small desperate whisper, “i know what you are, I mean I don't know exactly, but I know you're here to stop me.” Tears were gathering in at the rim of her lashes.

“We will stop you,” dean stated, “no question about it.”

“It's a curse,” Sam said quietly, “Curses can be broken, there's cleansing spells, there's conditional spells where you have to do something or say something to break it, it's a curse we can break it, but we have to know who cursed you and how.”

“Why would anyone choose to do this to someone else?”

“You were dying?” Dean said, “do you by chance mean that literally?”

“I don't understand.”

“What were your chances to wake up? Five percent? Ten? Twenty-five? How likely was it that you were going to die?” He was talking to her but he was looking at Sam.

“They didn't tell me, but they were surprised when I woke up.” She admitted.

“I know who we have to talk to then.” He was already sliding out of the booth his hand going toward Sam's jacket arm, “come on, we're going to finish our breakfast then we're going to stop you from hurting anyone else.

Sam followed him back to their own table, the waitress refilled his coffee and he took it gratefully. It was only a few seconds before Lynn left the diner with a quiet jingle of the bell above the door.

“You have a plan?” Sam asked when he didn't make a move to follow her.

Dean said and smirked into the fresh cup of coffee, “Lynn can't tell us anything else, because she didn't do it.” She's not in control of it, but I know who is.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “how do you think she figured out the curse? I mean these things aren't suppose to be easy. Think we're dealing with a witch or what?”

“Desperate times,” dean said, talking to the steam in his cup. There was a clatter of plates against the table, “first breakfast, then we go put a stop to this.”

 

Abigail was walking out the front door when Dean cornered her, stepping around the corner of the house, “I need to talk to you.” He said holding up his badge.

“I'm sorry, I'm just on my way to an appointment. I'm already late.”

“It's about your sister.” He said, watching the way she glanced nervously at the door lifting her hand against the wood before dropping it back down. She turned toward him, working her jaw like she intended to say something but the words just wouldn't come out, “I get it.” Dean said, “Hell, I'd probably do the same thing.”

“I didn't do anything.” She whispered.

“Right, so you're telling me someone else cursed her?” Dean asked “oh, or are you pretending you don't know that she's a mara?”

“I, um” she faltered, “wait,” Dean really looked at her then noticing the tired sunken look to her eyes, the knit cap pulled down over her ears, but the tangled blond hair sticking out in every direction gave her an overslept look. “How long have you been having nightmares?”

“It's not like that, I just overslept.” She said, then her eyes went wide realizing she'd just given something away. She rushed on to fill in the silence so he would understand before he did whatever it was he planned on doing. “It wasn't suppose to be that way, she wasn't suppose to kill anyone.” She was pacing and shaking now. “It's not her fault.” She said frantically trying to make herself calm down enough to make him understand. Whatever appointment she had to go to was forgotten. “You can't hurt Lynn. I did this, so you just do whatever you have to do to me, arrest me or whatever, just, please you have to help her.” She grabbed his arm, “that's what you're suppose to do right, you're suppose to help people.” Her hand brushed the knife handle tucked into his sleeve and she jerked back in surprise, “You're not cops are you?” She said finally putting the pieces together.

“No, we are not.” Dean agreed giving her a pointed look, “We are something else, but like cops we stop monsters, now, because of what you did, you're sister is one of the things that we have to hunt.”

“Abigail,” Sam said her name quietly, coming around the other side to pin her down between them, “We're going to stop her before anyone else get's hurt, one way or another. Now, we're going to try it the non-violent way, but if it doesn't work – ” he let her fill in the image herself before he continued talking in that same calming tone that worked on a hundred upset witnesses before her and would worked on a hundred after her, “Come with us, help us and we'll find a way to break this curse. Every curse has a cure, we just have to find it.”Sam urged

“You can't be sure about that.”

“I can. I am.” Dean assured her, “Sam's a genius. We'll figure something out.” he glanced at his watch. “It's 9 hours before dark. We've got until then. And this will go a lot faster if we know exactly what spell you used.” He waited, saw the look of fear and indecision crossing her face then she slumped a little whatever fight she'd had in her slipped away and she nodded, “okay, you should probably come inside.”

The followed her into the house, she went to her bedroom and pulled a book down with a dust jacket taped down. “A Stephen King book?” Dean asked, “Really?”

“No, not really, I'm not stupid it'd be kind of hard to explain the other book to company so I just sort of hid it. She pulled the cover off and clutched it to her chest like it was her last life line. The book was worn and leather bound. Whatever was in the book, it probably wasn't a book of fairy tales.

“Where did you get it?” he asked,

“It was my grandma's” she confessed not meeting his eyes.

“Did your grandma happen to be a witch?” Dean asked.

“Not practicing,” she said still not meeting his eyes, “she collected spells, stories, stuff like that and wrote it all down, she thought magic was interesting.”

“Some people collect stamps, your family collects dark magic, that's just awesome,” he muttered taking the book from her.

“You don't have to be mean,” she said still not meeting his eyes.

“People are dying, I think mean is the least of your worries right now. Unless you're enjoy this.” He was already flipping through the book, most of it looked like nonsense, but there were a few symbols that looked painfully real to him. “Sam's going to look through this book and find us a real answer, you're going to sit here nice and quiet and only talk if he asks you a question, understood.” He handed the book off to his brother and they found their way to the kitchen table.

“Show me what spell you used,” Sam said reaching to open the book. She was just starting to flip through the book when Lynn came through the door to the living room, “What are you doing here?” She yelped taking a step back toward the door.

“Saving your ass,”Dean answered,

“It's okay Lynn,” Abigail whispered at the same time. “They're helping,” she added and leveled a glare at Dean.

“What?” He asked pretending to be oblivious. He dropped the pretense pretty quickly and said, “so why don't you tell us exactly what happened, and maybe we can move this a little faster.”

Well, Lynn was in a car wreck.” Abigail started, Lynn watched her curious as to her side of the story before she gave her own. “The doctors told me that she wasn't going to wake up. That she was in a coma and that her body was starting to shut down. They started talking about options, and insurance plans, and long term care costs. Like it wasn't my sister's life they were talking about.” She wiped her eyes on the back of her shirt sleeve. Dean found a paper towel and handed ti to her. “Thank you.” She said softly, “I didn't know what else to do. We couldn't afford the medical bills that she'd already gotten just from being there. I found the book, found the spell, and I did it. I didn't even think twice about it. I didn't actually expect it to work but I was desperate.”

“You had to try.” Dean said softly, “even if it didn't work.”

“What else was I suppose to do? Just watch my sister die?” This time dean was silent on the subject. “Yes, alright, I didn't expect it to work not really. I figured the odds were like one in a billion but it was better than what I had. Which was a piece of paper asking me to consent to letting them take her off life support. I not only had to watch her die. I had to be the one to give the order. I couldn't do that.” She said hiccuping, “I just couldn't.”

“And the spell worked?”

“Not at first” she said, “I thought it was just a dud, or that I had done it wrong or something. The first night afterward I kept waking up expecting the phone to ring, for them to tell me that by some miracle she was coming around.”

“It didn't happen?” Dean asked.

“No.” She said.

“So then what?” Sam encouraged her looking up from the notes he was making.

“I signed the paper.” She whispered refusing to meet anyone's eyes, she continued in a rush, “I was sitting there when they pulled it, I was holding my breath waiting for her to stop breathing. But she didn't.” She smiled then reliving the relief she'd felt in that moment. “They took off the oxygen and she just keep breathing just fine without it. It was three days before she woke up but when she did it was like she'd just taken a nap or something. She was like completely better.”

“Except the limp.”

“Yeah, they had to remove a section of the bone out of her leg and replace it with a plate.”

“What day was that?”

She told them. Sam jotted it down on the notepad and went back to researching the spell.

“And?”

“And nothing, she was just better, she was out of the hospital a week later.”

“And the death's...” He asked directly no longer sugar coating it.

“Started about two weeks later.” She said avoiding his eyes.

 

Lynn was sleeping. They'd expected it to be more difficult for her to fall asleep. The nervousness from what they were doing itself would be enough to keep most people awake, but the magic that cursed her ran it's course regardless of whether she wanted to stay awake.

Abigail was pacing the room like a caged animal. “Think it worked?” She asked for the dozenth time to no one in particular.

Dean shrugged, “You should get some rest.” He suggested. “There's really no way of knowing for sure until you're both asleep.”

Abigail glanced nervously toward her bedroom. “Are you sure?”

“We're sure.” Dean said gently but there was a hard edge to it that bordered on annoyance. As soon as she closed the door behind her he turned to his brother, “you sure about this?”

“I'm sure.” Sam reassured him, flipping the pages in a book he probably wasn't actually reading.

Whatever Dean was about to say was interrupted by a quiet whimper. They were both moving toward the door in an instant. Dean grabbed Lynn's arm shaking her awake as Sam threw the bowl of spell components onto the other bed, chanting something incomprehensible, loud, and insistent. Sparks shot up from the spilled powder without catching. They sizzled through the air, crackling on invisible threads. The spirit didn't burn when the magic reached it's hiding place. Instead ropes of shimmering magic bound onto it, pulling the spirit back into the waiting body. Another verse was added to the chant before the magic faded out. The room feel into a deep unsettling quiet.

“Come on.” Dean whispered in Lynn's ear pulling her from the room, and guiding her back to the dining room table. He dropped a shot glass in front of her and pulled his flask from his pocket, “are you okay?” \

“Yeah, just that was...” she closed her eyes, “I can't believe it worked.”

Sam came out of the room and closed the door behind him careful to make as little noise as possible, “she's asleep.” He clarified, “actually sleeping, not out haunting people.”

“How did you know?” Lynn asked swallowing the shot straight then coughing at the burn. She swallowed a couple times, “how did you know she was cursed to?”

“We weren't sure.” Dean shrugged, “but I know if it were me and I thought Sam was dying, I'd do anything to save him. If that means a curse...” he glanced at his brother holding his gaze steady as he said, “I'd want to make damn sure I could end it before I'd risk something happening to him.”

“How long did you know?” Sam asked, turn the questions back to her.

“Which part?” Lynn asked taking another shot.

“About the curse,” Dean clarified.

“And about Abigail also choosing to become a mara herself.” Sam added.

“I knew something was wrong with me the first night. Things felt weird, and I woke up with leaves in my bed. I didn't know about Abigail until she killed the bank manager.” She said.

At the confusion on their faces she volunteered the information, “the loan officer I talked to wasn't the manager. I never even met him. Abigail did though, she was the one that talked to him on the phone when he called about the mortgage payment.”

Sam picked up the book off the table, “you know that this is the end of it, the book comes with us.”

Dean reached into his back pocket and pulled out his gun, he sat it on the table and leaned over her, “if either of you ever try your hands at witchcraft again, we'll be back, and this time we'll put a permanent stop to it. People are dead because of the two of you, curing you doesn't bring them back. It never will.”

“I know.” Lynn said, her eyes welling with tears, “you think I don't know that? That she doesn't know that, we're not ever going to be able to make this right.”

“Good.” Dean smiled and put the gun back up.

“Do yourselves a favor, learn to let go. If the time comes, it's better to go naturally then to get involved in this kind of shit to buy a little more time.”

“Dean,” Sam cleared his throat, “let's clear out, let them get some sleep.”

“Yeah.” Dena said pouring a little more from his flask into her shot glass, “one more for the road.” he said and they left her alone to face her sister with the sunrise.

 

The morning after the hunt seemed brighter than usual. The sun made the bleached gravel in the parking lot throw of bright glimmers of white. It was a relief to be moving again. “Ready to go Sammy?” Dean yelled throwing a bag in the trunk. His voice carried over the space between them, loud and happy.

Sam locked the door behind him and dropped the key in the box at the office, before joining his brother at the car. They hadn't made a plan yet. They were just going because it was easier than staying and talking about what had happened. About how they were walking away like there weren't bodies being left behind.

“Should we burn it?” Sam asked not directly saying what he was talking about burning.

Dean glanced at him sideways, “nah, you never know they're maybe something useful in it.”

It was easier to drink than it was to talk about whether or not they were doing the right thing. Sam reached into the cooler in the backseat and pulled out a beer before asking, ““Where to next?”

He popped the top while dean dug a quarter out of his pocket. “Okay, heads we go east, tails we go west.”

He flipped the coin and Sam caught it before it could land, “We should go check in with Bobby, it's been a while, maybe he needs some help around the house.”

“Not a bad plan. Baby's due for an oil change anyways.” Dean nodded like he was thinking it over even though the decision was already made.

“Beer?” Sam offered digging in the cooler for another bottle.

“Yeah,” Dean said cranking up the radio. The song that came on was loud and had a pounding beat. Dean's voice broke the silence. He so far off key it was almost painful to watch. Sam smiled and matched him, terrible note for terrible note, putting the girls and what they had done out of mind the best way they knew how.

 


End file.
